Magnus laughed. ‘Yes, well, no doubt you are right. This idea of using a sense of morals among the immoral—’
‘Hold on,’ interrupted Conrad. ‘I wouldn’t say Regan is immoral. Lawbreaking, yes, but immoral, I’m not so convinced about that.’
‘No, quite, but the point is, we need to ensure this idea of yours and your sister’s doesn’t have serious repercussions.’
Pushing himself away from the window, Conrad walked over to his father’s drinks cabinet and poured two glasses of Redbreast Irish Whiskey.
Magnus tutted once more. ‘Not too much. That’s saved for special occasions.’
Yes, when you invite the Gentlemen’s Club over, thought Conrad. ‘How are the bridge nights going?’
Magnus raised his brow, knowingly. ‘Yes, fine. Anyway, what plans do you have in place for this clean-up operation, and, more to the point, have you had a chance to speak to your sister?’
Conrad handed his father the glass and sat opposite, settling himself in the luxurious Chesterfield leather armchair. ‘Well, that’s the issue. I have asked Regan if he would consider the idea, but, in all honesty, I feel like I will end up in a situation where I will probably have egg on my face. I can’t instil any rules in the man and his firm when their moral compass is so different from the average man in the street. Take retribution, for example. They believe in an eye for an eye. Well, that might be any person’s natural reaction, but would we resolve our problems in that way? No, of course not. We would expect our law enforcement and justice agencies to deal with those.’
Magnus slowly nodded and pursed his lips. ‘I see, um . . . Yes, well, the fact is, if Regan felt he was being controlled, then the actual project would fail. He has access to every known crook in South-East London and Kent. The man is very well respected within his fraternity. He will have these gangs pulled out from their hiding holes and either they will be brutalized, or, if he is amenable, he will hand over the garbage to the law. However, with regard to the latter, I very much doubt that will happen. And about your sister. You haven’t told me if you have spoken with her. Have you?’
After taking a generous gulp of his whiskey, Conrad shook his head. ‘No, I feel sick to my stomach. That poor girl, Brooke, having gone through such a despicable assault, I just don’t know what to say to her. Me, Rebecca’s brother – the bloody commissioner – can’t even keep the streets clean.’
‘You are not God, Conrad. Besides, Brooke has a soft spot for you. Don’t delay the visit. Also, you need to discuss everything with Rebecca, to keep her in the loop. She cannot afford to lose the next election, and I won’t have her looking weak. We have got her this far. With a little more support, she will be on the front bench before we know it. She could be a good contender for the next prime minister.’
‘Yes, I know, but, as it stands at present, the crime rate is increasing so fast, and there is no money in the pot for more police officers on the streets. Three detectives who are trying to get the head honcho of these drug-fuelled gangs are due to retire shortly, and the way they look, I think they will be victims of a heart attack before they do retire. The work is sloppy and slow, and I am beginning to feel as though the gangs are making a mockery of us.’
‘Well, Son, you have answered your own doubt. You need the likes of Mike Regan on board because without the budget and with the lack of staff, this hideous gang situation will soon turn Kent into the Bronx. Rebecca will lose her career and that, Son, we cannot let happen. I came from nothing, but I’ve worked damned hard to have you in your position and Rebecca in hers. Don’t let me down.’
***
Zara was sitting in the Regans’ large and well-appointed lounge, flipping through the pages of a wedding gown brochure. A tear trickled down her nose. The long-sleeved gowns were beautiful and the women modelling them looked stunning, but how would she look with only one hand?
Gloria, Mike’s mother, watched her future daughter-in-law’s sad expression and guessed the reason. Hurrying over to put Zara’s mind at rest, Gloria put the brochure away.
‘Listen to me. Stop torturing yourself. You, my babe, will look stunning in anything you choose to wear. The only less than perfect thing about you at the moment is your downtrodden smile. Now then, there’s nothing we can do about your hand, but we can concentrate on everything else. The first thing you need to do is get your confidence back. There’s no point in hiding away from the world. Didn’t Davey Lanigan want to meet up with you?’
Zara smiled up at Gloria with admiration, and for a moment, she felt like a kid. Gloria was so much in control of herself and those within her orbit. With her hair fashionably styled and her clothes sharp and tasteful, Zara had never seen her without make-up or a piece of jewellery around her neck. Then, she looked down at her own attire and wondered why she was still dressed like she had been for most of her time in that basement cell. There was no need to do so now.
‘Ya know what, Gloria, you’re right. I’m going to get my hair styled. And it’s been so long since I wore anything new and fashionable. Fancy shopping?’
Gloria was ecstatic. Firstly, she’d hoped that Zara would get herself together, and secondly, she never needed an excuse to shop. ‘Arthur, where are the credit cards?’ she shouted, with a hint of excitement.
Everything seemed daunting at first, and Zara couldn’t explain how she felt. Having spent five years kept as a prisoner with no daylight and only a television for company, the world seemed almost alien to her now. Yet, she also knew that come what may, she would have to pull herself together. She was Izzy Ezra’s daughter and now the head of his estate and the business. Although the Lanigans had taken over, thinking she was dead, the proceeds of all profits had still been split fifty-fifty and her half placed in an offshore bank account, in the unlikely event she was found alive.
Mentally, she had to retrain her mind: she wasn’t a captive anymore, she was a businesswoman, with one fuck-off firm behind her. She only hoped that she still had the balls to take back control.
***
Wandering around the department store, Gloria held up a pretty blue Ted Baker dress with long sleeves and a gold trim. ‘Zara, this would look stunning on you.’
Zara laughed. ‘But who would take me seriously?’ She held up a black blazer and dark jeans. ‘Now then, look at these! These are what I need to fit the part.’
Gloria jovially rolled her eyes. ‘Aah well, let’s see if they have this gorgeous blue number in my size then.’
As Zara headed for the changing rooms, Gloria watched the slim, graceful woman and wondered if Zara was really ready to carry on with her firm. She was older, damaged, and probably not geared up just yet. Most women Gloria’s age would never have understood why Zara would want to go back to her business when she was already worth a small fortune and could comfortably retire. With properties here, there, and everywhere, she could live the high life and never lift a finger. However, Gloria understood entirely why Zara was committed in this way because her own husband and his pals used to run South-East London many moons ago. Then Arthur’s two sons took over. While they too became very wealthy, it wasn’t all about the money. A life of crime was in their blood – it never went away.
Another thought crossed Gloria’s mind – her son Mike and Zara’s relationship. Of course, they both loved each other, but they were at the top of their firms, with equal standing. Would the relationship work? She wasn’t sure: in reality, family, business, and friendships still had a pecking order. She couldn’t see either of them relinquishing their role as leader. Realizing that her musing was getting herself agitated, she sighed and found the floral dress she’d spotted on entering the store. It was in a size 12. Perhaps this would look ideal for the mother of the groom.
***